The Dementor, or The Lady?
by Domos Bread
Summary: Ideas from a semi-barbaric ruler leading two doors, Tom's fate, and Harry's decision. Loosely adapted from Frank Stockton's. AUish.


During a long begotten history there lived a semi-barbaric ruler named Lord Albus Dumbledore, whose ideas, though somehow befitting of a man who had passed the golden age of wisdom and knowledge, only attained and polished through decades of experience, were somehow puritanical and unwilling to embrace reason, that which in turn became that half of him which was barbaric.

Lord Albus was a man of exuberant fancy. He considered his fancy with verve like no other, and then he made these varied fancies into facts. When he and he himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. Whenever the confederates of this systemic wizarding world smoothly followed what was to be expected of them, his attitude was genial and calm; but whenever there was a little hitch or disorder, he was even more genial and calmer, for nothing pleased him better than striking the uneven places.

There were diverse things in which this puritanical sort of barbarism manifested itself. One of which and perhaps the most remarkable yet was the public arena, in which a cultured display of manly strength and valor was exhibited.

The arena was built strictly not in parallel with the notions and consensus that everyone so thought. For instance, it was not made to give the audience the pleasure of hearing the labored symphony of dying gladiators, nor was it made to fare a conclusion for the conflicting beliefs in religion and world views, but mainly for purposes better qualified to boost the mental energies of its people. This huge amphitheater, with its similarly large built-in galleries, secret caverns, and unknown passages, was their sacred hallmark of trials, in which crime was punished or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of impartial and incorruptible chance.

When a subject accused of a crime came into attention, especially someone that well-deserved Lord Albus' interest, a public notice was quickly announced for the appointed date of the subject's fate. The prosecution was to be executed within Lord Albus' arena, a structure with quite an apt name, for although its structure was borrowed from far Latin, its sole function was created by the mind of this wise old man, whom every a single wizarding folk knew by now, worships every tradition that pleased his fancy.

When the plentiful people had already assembled neatly on the structural galleries, and when Lord Albus, surrounded by his entire court, sat high up in the royal plane on the one side of his arena, Lord Albus gave the signal, and the door beneath him sprung wide open, revealing the visage of the accused who steps out the amphitheater for better view. Directly opposite him, located exactly half a mile in front of him sat two doors, laying side by side and looking exactly alike. It is a job and privilege for the person to walk in whichever door and open it. He could open any door he pleased, and he must be not subject to any such influence or guidance but prior only of that aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened one door, there appeared out of it a hungry Dementor, the cruelest and fearsome of all dark creatures, which immediately descended upon him and kissed him a mouthful until life was sucked out of him as a punishment for his guilt. The moment the case of the verdict was decided, bells clanged forlornly, hired mourners wailed, and the vast audience bowed with downcast face, went to their respective ways, and ever wondering why someone so young and fair, or so old and respected, landed a fate so dire.

But if the accused opened the other door, there came forth a lady of decent age, selected fairly from the stations of his majesty, and to this lady he was married as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not whether the accused was married or already had a family, or that his affection was directed upon another, for Lord Albus allowed no such thing to interfere this scheme of retribution and reward. As often exercised, wedding ceremony was conducted promptly and cheerily in the arena. That's when another door opened beneath Lord Albus, and from it came out a priest, followed by bands of choristers, and dancing damsels making an epithalamium air. All of which advanced to where the pair stood and there their wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then gay brass bells officialised their merry peals, people shouting glad huzzahs, and the innocent man led his bride to their new home.

This was Lord Albus' method of administering justice. A flawless fairness, for the criminal could never have the idea which door held the lady; and he opened either as he pleased, without the slightest inkling whether in the next moment he'd be kissed for death or renewed vigor. In some occasions the Dementor came out of one door, and on some, out of the other. The verdict of the tribunal weren't only fair, but it's also inordinate and positively determinate: accused being instantly punished upon a proved guiltiness, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. Whatever the outcome is, there was no escape form Lord Albus' judgment.

This was a famous tradition. Everyone gathered on one of these trials. No one would know beforehand if they were to witness a wedding or a slaughter. Its element of uncertainty was drawn where it would not have. Hence, people en masse were entertained and pleased to no end, and not even the thinking part of this large community could object a charge of unfairness to the plan…

…For did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?

* * *

Lord Albus had announced his successor, one coming from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. Although not as overbearing and fervent as his own, but somehow manifesting the ideals he deemed worthy of passing his kingdom with, the young lad was as much as Lord Albus could hope for, and for this, the mystery persona was revealed as Harry James Potter. As in most cases with high-ranking officials and, withal, heir to the thrones, Harry was warmly accepted, respected, and he was the apple of every maiden's and young man's eyes, loved by anyone and everyone. Among his admirers was a young man who shares his equal social standing, atypical to conventions in romance novels where the lover is far below the stations allowed for royal maidens, or, in this case, royal gentlemen.

Although not publicly revealed, everyone knew that Harry's lover was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and Harry was satisfied with his lover. Tom was none other than handsome, brave, and intelligent to a degree unsurpassed in the entirety of the wizarding world, and Harry had loved him with slightly more than a bit of puritanical barbarism in it to exude strength and warmth.

This love affair continued for the many months that came, until the harrowing arrived. It was a mill of a rumor that Tom was a practitioner of the Dark Arts, and these types of magick were frowned upon, especially by that of Lord Albus. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in premises. The youth was cast to the deepest dungeons, and appointed next day to a beastly trial in the arena. This, of course, has caught that of the many that heard the rumor, for they were curious to the workings and developments of this particular trial.

Never before had such a case surfaced.

The prison cells of Azkaban was searched for the most haunting and savage Dementor, to be selected for the arena; and ranks of diverse beauties amongst the maidens beyond lands and seas were picked by competent judges, to be presented if ever fate decided a different path for Tom. Of course, by now, everybody knew that rumor was indeed true, for an agent on one occasion, one who claimed to be under Tom's apprenticeship, had told everyone that, indeed, Tom does perform the deplorable Dark Arts in secrecy. But Lord Albus wouldn't let a fact interfere the workings of the tribunal, which he took in much delight and satisfaction. No matter what the outcome dictates, the youth would be disposed of, and for good riddance from his chosen successor. Moreover, Sir Albus wouldn't miss the aesthetic pleasure in seeing the outcome of the events, whether he had done wrong or, not with the relationship between Harry and Tom, everything would go as Lord Albus pleased.

The appointed day arrived too soon. People gathered, and there came a throng of shouts and boos, and some of the crowd, unable to gain admittance, accumulated outside of the walls. Lord Albus and the court were in place, opposite the twin doors of fateful portals that dictates one's destiny on two opposite ends.

All was ready. Signal was given. The door beneath opened, and out came the lover of one Harry Potter. Tall, beautiful, and, perhaps, his appearance were ethereal, Tom stood ever so calmly. Half among the audience questioned themselves how a youth so grand could commit a dire and heinous crime like Dark Arts? Maybe, he was more deserving of that terrible fate!

As the youth advanced across the arena, custom dictated that he bow to Lord Albus, and so he did, but he did no such thing and think of the said royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon that one successor, who sat right to Lord Albus. Had it not been for the fair share of courage that Tom unknowingly endowed for him, Harry wouldn't have been there, but his intense and fervid soul would never allow to be absent on such an occasion so terribly interesting. From the time the decree had been announced, Harry had thought nothing, dusk or dawn, but this event and the myriad of things that accompanied it. Possessed with power, influence, and courage he hadn't realized all along, he had done what no other person before could not — he possessed himself of the twin doors' secret. He knew which of the two rooms lay the Dementor, and which behind laid the lady. The doors, of course, were heavily warded and silenced, and it was impossible to take hints without having tampered beforehand.

But aligned with the power, and his will, he was able to bring the secret to himself.

Not only did he know where the lady stood, radiant and flushing all the while, should her door be opened, but he knew who she was. Her name was Hermione Jane Granger, a commoner and yet, the fairest and loveliest of the damsels the court could ever conjure has been selected to prove the innocence of his beloved Tom, and Harry hated her. Often he had seen, or imagined he had seen, this beautiful creature stealing glances of desire, not admiration, but wanton desire, and Harry thought that the glances were perceived, and even returned. He'd seen them talk for the briefest span of time, it could have been about an unimportant topic, but how could he know? The girl was lovely, but he had dared raise her eyes to the loved one of the successor, and with all the blood-boiling rage transmitted directly from the puritanical barbarism of his soon-to-be predecessor, to the woman who blushed and trembled behind that door, Harry scorned her name to the deepest pits of hell.

When his lover turned to him, Harry's eyes met his as he sat there, paler, whiter, and anxious amongst the vast oceans of unrecognizable faces. Tom saw, by the power of rapid perception gifted only to those whose souls are one, that Harry knew which door held whichever. He had expected Harry to know. He understood Harry's nature, and his soul was assured that Harry would never rest until he made himself clear to this. Tom's source of hope was based upon the success of Harry's discovering this mystery; and the moment their eyes crossed paths, sparkling ruby and brilliant emerald, he saw Harry had succeeded, as his soul knew Harry would.

Then a quick glance, a clear nonverbal question: "Which?"

It was plain to Harry like a shout. No instant must be lost.

The question was asked in a flash, and must be answered in another.

His arm rose, and then quickly flicked to the right.

No one but her lover saw, for every eye was fixated on the singular man in the arena.

Tom turned, and with firm conviction and rapid step, he spanned the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath held deep, eyes fixed immovably upon the vindicated man.

Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door to the right, and opened it.

* * *

Now the point of this story is this: Did the Dementor come out of the door, or did the lady?

The more you think and reflect upon this, the more you'll be hard-pressed to answer. Think of this, dear reader, not as your decision. You'll see that this involves the study of the human heart, leading to a deceptive labyrinth of passion.

Think upon that hot-blooded and puritanical semi-barbaric successor. He had lost Tom, but who should have him?

How often in this frightening love, had Harry wept in those waking nights consisting of nightmares; wild horrors as he waited for that dreadful kiss to descend upon Tom?

But how oftener had he seen Tom opened the other door? How often had he seen them glow in joy as Harry gnashed his teeth in rage he saw Tom's rapturous delight in opening the door of the lady! How Harry's soul burned in pure torment from agony and betrayal as he see Tom rush to that Granger girl, with her flushing cheeks and triumphant air, face framed rekindled with recovered life, as he heard shouts of multitude and wild bells clanging together, raining down colorful flowers while a despairing shriek was lost and unheard!

* * *

Would it not be better for Tom to perish at once, and opt to wait for Harry in the peaceful recesses of the blessed futurity?

And yet, that heinous Dementor, its soul-sucking kiss, and the shrieks and wails of faking mourners drowning the quiet drop of that dead body!

Harry's decision was made in one instant, but it had been contested after days and nights of anguished deliberation. Harry had known all along that he would be asked, Harry had decided what he would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, Harry had moved his hand to the right.

The question of Harry's decision is not one to be considered lightly, and it's not up to me to be boorish and selfishly decide what that would be. And so, I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door – the lady, or the Dementor?


End file.
